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Colby had come in to kiss me on the forehead, murmuring in my ear too quiet for anyone else to hear. “You’re gonna pay for leavin’ me to wake up alone.”
And, quite inappropriately, I got turned on in my childhood kitchen with both my parents in attendance.
If Colby’s smirk was anything to go by, he knew exactly what he did to me.
I repaid that by trying to ice him out the rest of the morning. That didn’t work since when I purposefully moved my chair far from his, he just moved his own, grasping my thigh with one hand while eating his eggs one handed.
My mother, the queen of compartmentalizing, seemed her upbeat self, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Though her gaze flickered to me more often, eyes shinier than normal. My father peered at the paper, but he didn’t hide behind it like he used to do during the family breakfasts I remembered.
They were going to church, as they did every Sunday. Though my mother was Jewish, she still attended Mormon church with my father. I’d never really thought about them and their differing religions, how they changed and bent their beliefs for love. Though I’d thought they were boring, stiff people, they’d taken risks for love. And they did still love each other. My father held my mother’s hand after he’d finished his breakfast.
“We don’t have to go today,” Mom announced at the end of breakfast.
I stared at my mother. I’d broken my arm one Sunday morning, scaling a tree before church. My mother had decided the break wasn’t bad enough to warrant an immediate trip to the emergency room, so I’d had to sit through church cradling my left arm to my chest.
There was simply not an occasion serious enough to warrant deviating from their routine or angering God—more accurately, ruffling the feathers of the small but judgmental circle they ran in.
“Um, no, Mom, it’s okay.” I wasn’t quite sure how her offer made me feel. Despite the relative success of the visit, I didn’t want to push it.
“We need to get on the road,” Colby said, squeezing my thigh. “We’ve still got a bit of a drive ahead of us to get home.”
“Home?” my mother questioned.
“Yes,” I replied, covering Colby’s hand with my own. “Home to Garnett.”
My mother’s eyes widened in panic. “But you only just got here.”
“Well, we can visit,” I hedged, not sure if I was telling the truth or not.
“Or you can come to Garnett. We’d love to have you,” Colby offered.
I stared at him with a raised brow regarding the ‘we.’ My apartment was one bedroom. He lived in a dorm room in the clubhouse. We were not really up to hosting my parents. And we weren’t supposed to be a ‘we.’
My mother looked at my father who shrugged, deferring to her as he always did. “Yes,” she said, looking back at us. “That would be nice.”
It was somehow decided that my parents would be coming to visit in six months. I kind of blacked out during the planning, Colby making all the arrangements.
Six months was long enough to come up with alternate plans. Or move.
We finished breakfast then packed up quickly. I put on jeans, an oversized tee and a leather jacket Colby had bought me a few weeks ago.
“You can’t be on the back of my bike without a jacket. Plus, you look sexy as fuck in it,” he’d said when he presented it to me.
“You’ll call?” my mother asked, holding my arms in a death grip at the front door.
“I’ll call,” I promised her, surprising myself by making that promise so easily. Even more so, I meant it.
Something had been healed there. Not just my relationship with my parents, but something inside of me. I was far from better, but I wasn’t quite as empty anymore. Didn’t feel as scooped out. Hollow.
My mother hugged me once more, kissing my hair. “You deserve this,” she whispered. “A man who takes care of you. A life of beauty. Whatever that looks like.”
Then she let me go.
It was my father’s turn. He was a man of few words and fewer emotions. It was safe to say I was shocked to find his eyes filled with tears when he pulled me into his arms.
He smelled of the same cologne he’d worn since I could remember and vaguely of motor oil. His large arms encased me, and suddenly, I was five years old again, running into his arms when I’d woken up from a nightmare, feeling like he could fix anything, like I was as safe as I could ever be.
Before he let me go, he kissed my head.
“We’re proud of you, Ri Ri,” he said, using the name he hadn’t in years.
He looked at Colby, holding out a hand. Colby took it, and they shook firmly. All very manly.
